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wSilent Tunes |
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Why 'Silent Tunes'? Well, the title was vaguely connected with music, and sounded nice and obscure. I like obscure titles.
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wIn short... |
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And literally. I'm only 5'2.Name
Rebekkah Laeuchli
Age
19
Birthday
12/25/85
Nationality
American
Location
Budapest, Hungary
Delights
Reading, writing, Internet, piano, languages
Genius
Undoubted
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wFamily/Friends/Cordial wAcquaintances |
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If you one of the above and own a online journal or web site and wish to swap links, just send me a line.Taleia Uni
Bekkah E.
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wBio |
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The main problem with this blog is that it's about me. Though I may be captivated by all that I write about me, I doubt that anyone else is. In fiction you can write about yourself under the guise of writing about made-up people.
I live in Budapest, Hungary; I'm here studying music. My father's a diplomat and was posted here for three years. When he got a new assignment in Africa (Libreville, Gabon) my older brother began attending college in the States (Notre Dame), and I decided to stay here. I study piano with a private teacher and attend a music high school for other subjects like solfege and music theory.
I'm interested in people. I enjoy watching them in the buses, on the sidewalks, and in the underpasses. I like listening to them. And I like writing about them. I haven't quite figured out yet how much of a person's art comes from themselves or from the people around them.
Because Daddy's in the Foreign Service, we've traveled a lot. I've lived overseas since I was five, with only relatively brief returns to the United States. This has had the result of making America a foreign country to me: strictly speaking, it is not my home. There really isn't a culture or society that I feel is my home, as I've grown up in so many. Being homeschooled has added to this effect.
I expect it would be good to thrown in a mention (for effect) at this point of the failed mutiny we lived through in Central Africa, and of the riot that took place when we were in China. The latter resulted in our being evacuated from our apartment behind the consulate to a hotel, and the former in our being evacuated back to the States, though in both cases Daddy had to stay behind. During the riot I remember being frightened by the burning down of the consul general's residence next door, and by the thought of how small the walls around our apartment building were. My brother and sisters slept through that night. During the mutiny, I recall continuous gun fire (I was ten at the time) and driving in a military truck through town and not being able to take off at first for Cameroon because of fighting near the airport.
On a final note, my favorite Agatha Christie mystery novel is And Then There Were None.
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wSunday, March 14, 2004 |
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Ever seen the Magic Flute? I mean the Mozart opera, Die Zauberflöte. We had to listen to the ENTIRE plot summary in music history class. I always thought it was a stupid story, and have now been confirmed in my opinion. This is not to say anything against the music, you understand, just that the plot is a very heavy-handed allegory that gives you a headache. Unless you enjoy interpreting all the Free Mason symbolism it is apparently stuffed chock-full of. But I saved myself from boredom (such a resourceful little girl) by writing a parody in my notebook. The teacher thought I was grinning 'cause I enjoyed the story, but it was actually because I was tickled to death at my own spoof. If you should happen to have time to waste, and enjoy poking fun at the Magic Flute, here's the link:
The Magic Flute -out of tune-
On a more morose note, I am having problems with Chris (piano teacher). It's a very long complicated story, so I shall not relate it here, but it's causing pain and unpleasantness. My family fasted and prayed with me today about it. It's nice to know your family is doing that for you, even if they're all the way over in Africa.
Last Friday I went to a concert featuring a Hungarian pianist: Gábor Csalog. He rocked. Okay, stupid expression, but I felt like saying it. His playing was very personal and tended to be on the quiet and under-stated side. When he got louder it was either very effective or somewhat harsh. I want to hear him again.
I think Hungarian guys are very childish. They do things like pass you at the metro stop and say, "Hallo, baby!" and then laugh at their own wit. In very inane way. I need to learn how to say, "Get a life!" in Hungarian. This is just for any of you who are considering dating Hungarian guys. Although most people reading this would not be considering dating anyone at all. We is a homeschooled blog-reading community. Mostly.
Tomorrow is March 15th, the anniversary of one of the failed Hungarian revolutions. They had plenty. I tend to lose track of the dates. People go around wearing little rosettes of red, white, and green, which are the colors of the Hungarian flag. Some of us just stay at home and practice our piano.
It's been a long week.
posted by
Rebekkah at 8:49 PM
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